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And maybe it was also making me hate her too, and it definitely would if we continued the way things were. Thatcher was right.
Mom’s throat jumped too. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out. Like she wasn’t sure what to say.
“I froze at Carnegie Hall, but it wasn’t because I received threatening letters,” I said, blinking down tears. My fingers gripped the bed. “I made up the letters.”
The shame hit me. That I’d gone to such lengths to put a pause on my life. That I was hating everything so much that I had to escape.
Mom’s expression fell. “You made them up?”
I nodded. “I just didn’t want to do this anymore.”
The letters had gotten me off tour. The threats had gotten all this to stop.
It had gotten my mom to stop.
She’d prioritized my safety, and I knew she would. Me being physically threatened was the only thing that would force her to take action. I’d suggested lying low by going to college. It was something I’d always wanted to do anyway.
“Why did you freeze, then, honey? You…” She touched my arm. “You hated it that much? This life?”
I didn’t use to, and it took playing with Thatcher for me to realize I did still love playing cello. I just didn’t love the hustle of it. It sucked all the passion out of it, and I just wanted to play.
“It was because of me… You froze because of me, right? Because I pushed you?” My mother had come to her own conclusions, but they weren’t far off. Actually, they weren’t far off at all. She put her hand over her mouth. “I made you hate it.”
The words were to herself, and I never saw my mom cry. She was always so strong, but her eyes glassed a little.
Her lashes flashed. “It was because of me.”
But it wasn’t just because of her. I shook my head. “I need to do things differently, and I never let you know that. I’m sorry…”
“Honey.” Her arms came around me, so tender, so gentle. She was trying not to hurt me. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I got lost. I thought this was what you wanted.”
It was but not at this price.
“What can I do?” she asked, pulling away. She placed her hand on my cheek. “What can I do to fix this?”
I handed her my phone. She needed to make a call, and maybe after that, we could fix this, us.
We’d do it together.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Thatcher
The call came to get me out of jail before I could make my own. My dad could have gotten me out of here in seconds, and my name even faster than that. The latter would have eventually gotten back to him, though, me being in here, and I didn’t know how to explain what had happened.
It wasn’t my secret to tell.
I knew Aspen’s mom had had me arrested, and after I got my cell phone back from the cops, I put the rest of the pieces together. Aspen tried to warn me to keep my distance, but her mother had obviously seen me at the hospital. I’d been downstairs trying to get us some breakfast.
Damn.
The charges had been weak at best, but I’d been accused of stalking and making threats against Aspen herself. These were the accusations, and Aspen’s mother obviously had a little power. Her daughter was essentially a celebrity, so that made sense. Once I found out the charges (and who had accused me), I hadn’t fought the arrest. I hadn’t known how. The threats on Aspen’s life had obviously been bullshit, but her mother didn’t know that.
I’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and calling my dad to get me out would have made things more complicated. I would have had to tell him something, and I wasn’t about to out Aspen. I couldn’t and didn’t want to.
“I’d say you weren’t the only one…”
